


It Started with a Contest

by Xerxia



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xerxia/pseuds/Xerxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern AU look at college!everlark.  Fluffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Started with a Contest

It started with a contest.

It was in one of those teenaged rag mags Prim loved to read, a writing competition for teens. I would never have noticed it, but Prim was insistent that I enter. Three years younger than me, Prim had me wrapped around her little finger pretty much from the day she was born, and I seldom denied her anything.

I’d been writing stories for Prim since we were just kids, bedtime stories at first, and then fan fictions of the characters in our favourite TV shows. A few years earlier I'd started writing original fiction, still just for Prim, I never shared any of my writing with anyone else; while I enjoyed writing I never thought any of it was good enough to share.

But the contest offered scholarships as prizes, and not just for first prize, even just making top 10 would be a few hundred dollars towards books for school. And since I was graduating in a year and hoping to go to college, I figured there was no real harm in trying. So I chose a story I’d been working on that I hadn’t shared with Prim yet, a story about a futuristic dystopia where a totalitarian regime sent kids into an arena to fight to the death. And for a twist I made it into a love story, complete with a tragic star-crossed Romeo and Juliet ending, where the male and female lead killed themselves with poisonous berries instead of killing each other.

Hey, I was seventeen, what do you expect?

It wasn’t my most brilliant work, but it was complete, met the contest length requirement and needed very little editing. And I really didn’t have time to write anything new between starting my senior year in high school and working all of the hours I could at Sae’s Diner.

Prim wrote my covering letter and I emailed the submission and then promptly forgot about it.

Which is why it was such a shock when I got a call that November, saying that I was a finalist and that the awards panel wanted to come interview me.

The meeting took place at my school, with my English teacher present. I thought that was odd, but I was pleased since it meant I wouldn’t have to deal with trying to get my mother to be there, and being disappointed when she wasn’t. Mrs Wiress, who taught me three times over my school career, gave a glowing, if slightly inflated, account of my academic prowess to the interviewers. I mean, I’d always been an A student, but never anything special, though you wouldn’t know it from her effusive praise of my talent and dedication. I was confused, but awfully grateful. She had copies of my transcript ready for the visitors too, and examples of some of the creative writing I’d done for class. She was far better prepared for all of that than I was. I was just glad to have been wearing nice jeans and a sweater without any holes in it.

In hindsight I should have taken it more seriously, but I had no idea how big a deal it was.

I learned just how big it was the first week of January, when I received another call. I’d won. Not just top 10, but first place. And the prize was a full scholarship to Victor’s Academy, a prestigious private arts college about 90 minutes from where I lived in Panem.

A four-year full-ride.

And even though that meant taking a degree in creative writing, instead of the environmental science degree I’d been planning for, I couldn’t possibly decline. A full-ride meant that I could give all of the money I’d been squirrelling away for the past four years to Prim, for when she was ready for college.

Prim was brilliant, and had already decided that she was going to be a doctor. She had the drive to do it too.

Uncle Haymitch drove Prim and me out to the awards ceremony, which was held at the Academy that February. Haymitch was my father’s half-brother. My dad died in a horrific car crash when I was only 11, and when my dad didn’t come home my mom kind of lost her mind. Not a gradual decline either, she simply refused to get out of bed after he died. I tried to keep things together, but I was just a little kid. Thankfully Haymitch stepped in, and all three of us moved in with him soon after. My mother eventually got out of bed, but she never recovered her mind. She wandered in and out of our lives.

Haymitch and my dad looked alike, with their jet black hair and sharp grey eyes, traits I also inherited, but the similarity between them stopped there. My father was kind and sweet-natured, with a musical voice and boundless patience. Haymitch was gruff and moody and drank too much. But underneath it he loved us, even if he was not much for saying it.

Prim made me wear a dress, and made Haymitch comb his hair for the ceremony, and she snapped dozens of pictures on her phone. Frankly the whole thing was surreal. After, we went out for fries and milkshakes, which was the best part of the day.

There was an even bigger surprise a few weeks later. Victor's Publishing, which is affiliated with the academy, wanted to publish a limited run of my story. You'd think I'd be thrilled, but I was horrified. I knew, rationally, that the people running the contest had read my story, but I never intended anyone else to see it.

Ever.

You see, while the plot was completely fictitious, the characters were not. Yes, I'd given them different names, but it wouldn't have been that hard to figure out who they were, if you knew me.

The female lead I, of course, based on myself. Allium Winterland was strong and quiet and fiercely dedicated to her younger sister. I changed a few things though. Allium had long, glossy black hair and molten silver eyes, a gorgeous figure, and was an expert with a bow and arrow. Katniss Everdeen, on the other hand, was pretty much a stick figure with a black braid, knobby knees and tiny breasts hardly worth wearing a bra over. The couple of times I tried archery in gym class hadn't exactly made me a deadly weapons expert either. Still, it wouldn't have been a stretch to recognize me in Allium.

And that was fine.

What wasn't fine was that the inspiration for the male lead - the boy who Allium was madly in love with - was equally easy to guess. Oh I changed his name (to Barley) and gave his family a different business (a restaurant) but every physical description of him in my story read like a love letter. His ashy blond hair that fell in waves over his forehead... crystalline blue eyes that twinkled with mirth... strong, muscular physique from wrestling and working in his family's shop... Yeah, just about everyone in Panem would have recognized Peeta Mellark from that description, and my long-hidden crush would've been out in the open.

It's not like I'd ever have had any chance with Peeta. We'd known each other since kindergarten but never run in the same circles. He was popular and well-liked, sporty and smart and an incredibly gifted artist. His parents owned a bakery in our little town and Peeta decorated the cakes. When Prim was younger I'd take her by on Saturdays to see what incredible culinary creations were in the display windows. We were never disappointed. His paintings were even more amazing, and several of them hung in our school, festooned with awards.

He was completely out of my league.

He was also always surrounded by girls; the most gorgeous, popular girls looked at him like he hung the moon. I wasn't one to listen to gossip but it was hard not to notice how many girls he'd been linked with. He’d never have noticed me; plain, quiet and perpetually ill-tempered me among all of those cheerleaders? I was as memorable as the walls. In all of our years in school together we’d spoken exactly once, when we were eleven. I doubted he even remembered, though I could never forget.

A representative from the publishing house, Fulvia Cardew, came out to the shabby little house where Prim and I lived with Haymitch, and occasionally my mother. She didn't seem to notice my hesitation about publishing my book though. She gushed away, the lamplight catching her odd silvery facial tattoos as her head bobbed enthusiastically, explaining their proposal.

I absorbed pretty much nothing except the amount of the advance they were offering. $4,000. Holy shit! Four grand! Four grand could buy me a used car, so I could come home from school to see Prim more often.

I told her I'd think about it.

In the end it was Haymitch who convinced me. He brought the contract to his drinking buddy Chaff, an attorney in town, and they both suggested I go for it.

Ironically the solution to my worries came from the publishing house itself. I went out to their offices that May to sign the contract; we - Haymitch and I - decided to wait until after my eighteenth birthday so that I could sign for myself instead of having to track down my mother. Haymitch signed school papers for me, but he couldn’t sign a legal document, see he took care of me but my absentee mother was technically still my legal guardian. But the official arrival of my adulthood changed that.

The man who sat with us this time was older, a jolly man with thinning grey hair. He expressed some concern about publishing under my real name and I jumped at the opportunity to use a pseudonym. Which is how I became 'Effie Trinket'. I thought for sure the publishing rep would balk at such a crazy name but he didn't bat an eye. I guess with a name like Plutarch he just didn't find my choice strange.

Life in the publishing world doesn't move quickly, at least not for a young, unproven author. I was busy with exams and work and the day to day taking care of the house and Prim and sometimes Haymitch, and I honestly didn’t give any thought to some far distant publishing deal that never seemed real anyway.

When the advance check came, just after graduation, Haymitch helped me buy a car, a compact model, 7 years old and great on gas. Its orange colour got me a cheaper insurance rate too.

Before I knew it, August had come and I was driving out to Victor's Academy with Prim beside me and Haymitch following behind in his truck, my meagre possessions in the bed. I told him he needn’t come out, I could find my way myself, but he mumbled something about ‘duty’. At least he bought us pancakes at Sae’s before we hit the road.

The campus was beyond anything I could have imagined, beyond even my wildest dreams, and so much grander than the tiny slice I'd seen the previous winter. Looking more like an estate than a school, the buildings were surrounded by large swaths of manicured lawn and tucked among stands of trees, mini forests if you will.

We found my dormitory easily enough; it was a such small campus that there were only 4 student residence buildings. I’d been placed in the Seam building, a three story walk up, and my room was on the third floor. Haymitch grumbled about the lack of an elevator, but the view from my window was fantastic.

Seam was organized into ‘pods’, living units that featured 4 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, a tiny kitchen and a common area with a sofa, two comfy chairs and a television. It was, frankly, nicer than our house. Seam was also, it turned out, a co-ed dorm. Not that it mattered to me, but Haymitch raised a brow and Prim snickered. I didn’t really understand why. I never dated in high school, and wasn’t looking to start. So it’s not like the gender of my podmates would affect me in any way, except that I hoped boys would be less messy in the bathroom than girls. Or at least less messy than Prim.

We arrived early and I was the only person on the floor. I told Prim and Haymitch they could leave but they were insistent on staying until my other roommates showed up, so I dumped my crap in the bedroom closest to the bathroom and we went out to walk the campus.

Hours later we came back to the dorm and there were two more people in my pod; Johanna, a dark-haired girl with a pixie cut and multiple facial piercings, who was also a creative writing major, and Thresh, who I learned had started at State on a football scholarship but transferred to Victor’s after a career-ending injury. They were a study in contrasts, Thresh was huge, hulking, intimidating, but soft-spoken and gentle, Johanna was tiny, barely 5 feet tall, but loud, brash and quick witted. I knew I’d get along well with Thresh, but I worried about Johanna.

Our final roommate didn’t arrive before Haymitch and Prim had to leave, in fact he didn’t arrive until early the next morning. Early as in barely dawn early. Early as in super cranky roommates greeting him early. But the neither the time of day, nor getting jolted awake from an uneasy sleep, was the reason for my shock.

I staggered out of my room at the first crash of a box landing on the common area coffee table. Through bleary eyes I made out three blond mops of hair attached to three medium height bodies, one loudly shushing the other two as they attempted to squeeze back through the door to the hallway. They wouldn’t have even noticed me if Johanna hadn’t swung her door open with a huge bang, making me, and the boys, jump.

All three turned to stare at Johanna, who was wearing a tiny bra, boy shorts, and nothing else. But I wasn’t looking at Johanna. I was staring with dawning recognition, and horror, at the shortest of the three blonds. At a face I’d gazed longingly at for years in math class, and bio class, and that stupid art history class I took because I knew he’d take it too.

Peeta Mellark.

Johanna started barking, demanding to know which ‘brainless idiot’ was our new roomie, and the three guys rather reluctantly dragged their eyes away from her barely covered tits. Peeta held up a hand, a blush blooming across his fair cheeks, while his two older brothers bolted. She lectured him, and to his credit he appeared to take her seriously despite her stature and only barely clothed status. I couldn’t contain a snicker, and that’s when he turned towards me for the first time.

His eyes widened comically, a look of pure shock on his face as he took in my appearance, dishevelled in sleep shorts and a camisole, hair flying everywhere, leaning against the doorframe. I scowled. I mean, it was six in the morning, what the hell did he expect? I might have looked half human if he’d arrived at a normal time like a normal person. Well, probably not actually. But my hair might have been brushed at least.

“Katniss?” he whispered. “Holy shit!” My brows shot up, I was honestly shocked that he recognized me at all.

“Hey Peeta,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, like we were old friends and it was totally normal to be chatting with him while standing in my pajamas. A smile stretched wide across his handsome face and he walked straight to me, reaching out to grasp my upper arms. Electric shocks ran through me; he was touching me, with his hands, on purpose. Peeta Mellark, the star of pretty much every fantasy I’d ever had. The touch was fleeting though, he let go far too quickly, blushing again and running his hands through his hair, making the curls stick up.

“You’re… we’re…. Wow!” he exclaimed, his arms gesturing wildly at me and at the room. “I just can’t believe it!”

“Oh great, the reunion tour,” Johanna snapped, effectively ruining my fantasy moment. “Pita is it? Like the bread?” I saw Peeta wince before shooting me an apologetic look and turning back towards Johanna.

“It’s Peeta, actually, with two Es, but I get that a lot.”

“Whatever Bread Boy,” she cut him off. “Get your shit inside then shut the hell up; some of us are trying to sleep!” She stomped off, and slammed her bedroom door hard enough to make the windows rattle.

“That’s Johanna,” I told him, rolling my eyes, and he grinned.

“I can’t believe you’re here, Katniss,” he repeated.

“I can’t believe you know my name,” I blurted before slapping a hand over my mouth. Stupid! He frowned.

“Of course I know who you are; we’ve been schoolmates since kindergarten!”

“Well, yeah, but you know, we didn’t exactly know each other…” I trailed off. He was wearing a bemused expression.

“I hope we can correct that now, Katniss,” he said, and the way my name sounded falling out of his mouth made me quiver inside. I could do nothing but nod dumbly. This was going to be so bad.

Except it turned out that it wasn’t.

Peeta wasn’t exactly the bastion of male perfection I’d built him up to be in my head; he was always up early and irritatingly cheerful in the mornings, he only washed dishes under threat of death and he had a disturbing habit of peeing with the bathroom door half-open (apparently growing up in a house of only men will do that to a person!) but he was even more genuinely kind than I’d imagined. He was also fun and funny and showered us with baked goods on weekends. I liked the real Peeta even more than the idealized version.

Thresh, too, was a great podmate, a gentle giant, quiet and subtly hilarious. And in spite of my early reservations about Johanna she was amazing; smart, sharp and fiercely loyal, if a little clothing averse. The four of us got along like a house on fire.

I enjoyed my classes, I enjoyed my roommates. It was pretty much the best time of my life.

Thresh and Jo were both in third year, both had on-campus jobs, and both were well established, so they were home far less frequently than Peeta and I were. We spent a lot of time together, just the two of us. In those shared evenings of ramen noodles and Big Bang Theory marathons we built a friendship. And every so often I’d catch him looking at me in a way that made me wonder if, just maybe, it could possibly be more.

Then I’d remember who he was. And who I was.

In between classes and assignments and the day to day life of a college student, I did multiple rewrites of my humble little story. One scene in particular they wanted me to expand on, a pivotal scene where Allium and Barley hide out in a cave, and she falls in love with him. Originally it had been a short passage, they'd taken shelter from the rain together and, hungry and injured, had comforted each other. But my editor, Cressida, wanted more.

My burgeoning friendship with Peeta became fodder for that scene. Some of the moments between us, some of the things we shared with each other, the little intimacies of our deepening bond, found their way into the pages.

And as Allium fell in love with Barley, I let myself imagine a world where Katniss and Peeta could do the same. I knew it was only fantasy, but it was a wonderful dream.

By the time we were packing up our rooms the following May, Peeta and I were best friends, practically inseparable, and I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it.

Our closeness extended into the summer back home in Panem. I worked at Sae’s again and he worked in his father’s bakery, and sometimes he let me sneak into the kitchen to watch him. I met his father and brothers, who practically adopted me as one of their own. In turn, Peeta got along fabulously with Prim and even managed to charm Uncle Haymitch.

We spent evenings and days off together, sometimes with our old high school classmates, sometimes just the two of us. It was an easy, uncomplicated friendship.

Even if I was a little fixated on his eyelashes. And his ass. And the way his forearms looked when he pushed up the sleeves of those snug-fitting henleys he favoured.

But I never told him that. The stupid school-girl crush didn’t go away, if anything it got stronger. But I learned to live with it. I learned to look away and repeat a mantra in my head when girls inevitably hung all over him. ‘My name is Katniss Everdeen. I’m nineteen years old. Peeta Mellark is my friend. Peeta Mellark will only ever be my friend.’ I wish I could say it helped.

We, of course, requested to be podmates again for second year.

Johanna was back again too but Thresh moved into a place of his own off-campus with his girlfriend. We were assigned a new fourth.

Her name was Glimmer.

Actually her name was Sydney Campbell, but apparently people had been calling her Glimmer since her days on the pageant scene. The pageant scene? Who knew that was even a real thing?

She was everything you’d expect a girl named Glimmer to be; rich, vain, pretentious, stuck up.

Drop-dead gorgeous.

Glimmer was my polar opposite in every way; beautiful face, fluffy blond hair, and the kind of body that suggests expensive surgical enhancements. She was a girl everyone noticed. A girl who was used to getting what she wanted.

And she wanted Peeta.

At first he was kind of oblivious. He was friendly with her but he was friendly with everyone, that’s just his way. But she poured on the charm, hanging on his every word when he spoke, making excuses to touch his hand or arm or face. Soon they were walking to classes together; since they were both fine arts majors they were in the section referred to as District 1. As a creative writing major most of my classes were in District 12. It hadn’t been a problem in first year, Peeta would often jog across the lawns to have lunch in my building with me, but when Glimmer pressed him he began to stay in 1 for lunch. With her.

Our evenings weren’t our own anymore either, she was always there. I couldn’t have even one conversation with Peeta without Glimmer inserting her two cents worth. Eventually I stopped trying. I spent more time in my room, skyping Prim. I shifted my daily run to the evenings. I got a job in the campus bookstore, where Johanna was manager. I saw less and less of Peeta.

Our perfect, uncomplicated friendship began to unravel.

Classes were still good, but a lot of the joy I’d had the previous year evaporated.

When Fall break came around and Peeta asked if he could catch a ride back to Panem with me I was frankly shocked; we were still texting all of the time but I’d barely spoken to him in a month.

The drive, and the time at home, seemed to fix things. We talked, we laughed, we hugged. My balance was restored.

Then we came back to school, and Glimmer fawned all over Peeta, mooned on and on about how much she’d missed him. When she started talking about things she could only have known if she’d been in touch with him while we were away I retreated to my room.

Hours later I was hovering on the edge of sleep when my door creaked open, and Peeta slid into the cramped space. “Katniss,” he whispered, kneeling down so his face was even with mine, only inches away. I pretended to be asleep, but he didn’t buy it. “I know you’re awake,” he continued, so quietly that I had to strain to hear him. “Please don’t shut me out.” His voice was so sad, so plaintive, my eyes popped open.

There was enough light coming through my window that I could see those blue eyes that haunted me, the smattering of freckles across his nose.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you,” he continued, “but whatever it is I need to make it right. I can’t lose you, Katniss.” Guilt ate away at me. Peeta had done nothing wrong; it wasn’t his fault that I was a jealous bitch.

“I’m sorry, Peeta. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He shifted to sit on my bed and I scooted back towards the wall so he’d have room.

“It’s Glimmer, right?” I wasn’t sure if I needed to dignify his query with an answer, it was kind of obvious. Apart from how she monopolized Peeta’s time and attention she was at best indifferent to me, and when Peeta wasn’t around she tended towards cruel, taking potshots at my wardrobe, making snide comments about my looks. But I could put up with Glimmer; I’d dealt with girls like her all through high school. She wasn’t worth losing Peeta over.

“She’s a little much,” I admitted. It wasn’t the whole story, not even half of it, but he nodded in agreement.

“Tell me about it,” he smirked, but didn’t elaborate. His expression got sad again. “It was so nice hanging out this past week, just you and me again. I’ve missed you so much.”

I reached out to him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Me too, Peeta,” I admitted. He shifted a little, so that we were lying face to face in my narrow bed, arms wrapped around each other.

He whispered into my hair, so quietly I wasn’t sure he intended me to hear it, “I don’t like Glimmer that way, I hope you know that.” I nodded drowsily.

Sometime in the night I felt him shift, attempting to get out of bed. In a haze I tightened my grip on him. “Stay,” I begged. As the tendrils of sleep pulled me back down, I heard him whisper a word back but I didn't catch it.

When I woke up the next morning he was still there, smiling shyly down at me. “Hey,” I whispered.

“Hey yourself,” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. “That’s the best I’ve slept in a long time. Maybe ever,” he admitted, and I grinned.

“Me too. Maybe, uh…” I trailed off, afraid to say it.

“Maybe we could do it again?” His face was so hopeful it made my heart flutter.

“I’d like that,” I told him. We stared at each other until the air between us felt electric. He lifted a hand to smooth my tangled hair back and for a moment I was sure he was going to lean in and kiss me.

But the moment passed. And before things could get too weird he offered to make pancakes.

They were the best pancakes ever.

Things improved after that night. We started hanging out in my room or his, watching videos on Peeta's laptop or playing cards or just talking. Glimmer still dominated Peeta's lunch breaks, still hung off him in the common area, but the promise of time just the two of us made her easier to tolerate. And Peeta took to sleeping in my bed, not every night, but often. Nothing ever happened, just comfort and companionship, but it was the best part of my day. And hope bloomed in me.

The day after Thanksgiving I got to the bookstore for a Black Friday shift (which was ridiculous when 2/3 of the student body had gone home for the four day weekend) to find Johanna setting up a 'new author' display. I nearly fainted. Even though it had been at least six months since I'd signed off on the cover art, a gorgeous, lifelike rendering of a dandelion poking through a crack in concrete, the shock of recognition was immediate.

My book.

Or rather, as the banner announced, Effie Trinket's book. Just in time for the holidays!

I knew it was coming, Fulvia Cardew had left half a dozen effervescent voicemails over the past couple of weeks, but it was surreal still. Something I wrote was right in front of me, where people might actually buy it!

I helped set up the display, sneaking surreptitious glances at the reviews printed on the back, which were quite favourable though I had no idea whether the reviewers had even read my book.

I didn't breathe a word to Johanna.

But when we got back to the pod after closing there was a box on the coffee table, addressed to me. I knew immediately what it was, Fulvia had promised me a dozen copies 'to pass out to my friends and family'. I, of course, only intended to give out one copy, to Prim. The story had originally been for her after all.

Unfortunately, Johanna recognized the box. She'd been working at the campus bookshop for three years and had seen thousands of Victor's Publishing boxes. The prospect of new books always excited her. "What did you order, Brainless," she chortled, and had the packing tape sliced open and the box tipped before I could even get near. Glimmer looked disdainfully at the pile of books from where she was perched on the couch, practically in Peeta's lap.

"They're for Prim," I sputtered, lunging to collect the books and, more importantly, the enclosed letter. Like vultures, both Jo and Glimmer snatched copies before I could stop them.

"Ugh," Glimmer groused, her nose wrinkled as she looked at the cover. "Trashy YA novels? Really Katniss, do you have any taste at all?" She tossed the book, but it missed the table and smacked onto the floor.

My cheeks flamed with anger and embarrassment as I replaced the books in the carton, avoiding looking at any of my roommates. When I hoisted the box up onto my hip I glanced up to see Peeta standing right in front of me, holding the book he'd picked up from the floor, smoothing the now creased dust jacket with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"There's something familiar about this picture," he said, softly enough that only I could hear, staring intently into my eyes. I panicked; never did I think it even remotely possible he might remember.

We hadn't spoken about that day, not once in the year and a half we'd been hanging out. That day when I was eleven. The day he saved my life. I'd pretty much convinced myself that he had forgotten it completely. I chose that cover art because it reminded me of that day, but I thought I’d be the only one to recognize it.

I bolted for my room, slamming the door behind me and tossing the box of books in my closet. I could hear Johanna yelling at Glimmer, but I pressed my pillow over my ears and closed my eyes tightly.

It didn't stop the memories from rushing back.

My childhood had been pretty idyllic before my father died. We weren’t wealthy, not by any stretch, but our home was full of love. Both of my parents were doting, making up for the things they couldn’t afford to buy us by spending huge amounts of time with us. We went hiking in the woods together, swam in the lake together, played and talked and sang together. Never once did I feel poor, on the contrary, my life was so much richer, so much happier than my classmates, even if our clothes were old and a little threadbare.

Then on a cold March night my world changed forever.

My father’s death hit me hard; I had always been a bit of a daddy’s girl. But at least I understood that he hadn’t willingly left me. My mother was a different story. She held herself together, barely, through the funeral. But once the extended family and friends had gone she crawled into bed without a word and didn’t get back up. Prim and I begged and pleaded but she simply laid there staring vacantly at the wall.

For six weeks, six long, terrifying weeks, I tried to hold everything together. I continued walking Prim to and from her elementary school. I comforted her when she cried, which was often. I helped her take her baths, I told her stories and sang her songs. I kept us fed as best I could. But after six weeks there was nothing left in the fridge, and virtually nothing in the pantry. We hadn’t had milk or bread or fruit in a month, our clothes were dirty and starting to smell because I didn’t know how to wash them.

One morning, about two weeks before my twelfth birthday, it all came crashing down. I’d given Prim the last can of creamed corn, half for dinner the previous night, half for breakfast, but I hadn’t eaten anything myself, and I had to figure out something to send to school with Prim for lunch. The only thing left in the cupboard was a box of bouillon cubes. I boiled water and made a weak broth, carefully spooning it into two thermoses and crossing my fingers that Prim’s teacher didn’t notice how meagre it was.

It was another rainy morning, Prim’s rubber boots didn’t fit her anymore so I’d given her mine and I was walking in wet shoes, trying to avoid the puddles in the road between her school and mine. Which is why I didn’t notice them at first.

Cato Collins and his sidekick, Marvel Amiel.

Cato was a bully; he wasn’t particularly picky about his targets in general and that day he zeroed in on me. I guess I was an easy choice, coatless with no umbrella, squelching in wet sneakers, dirty and dishevelled and downtrodden.

Cato wrenched my lunchbag away before I even noticed he was there and started waving it above my head, taunting me into jumping for it. And I knew better than to do that, knew it would only encourage them, but I was cold and hungry and miserable. Then they started tossing it over me, monkey in the middle style. It was inevitable that Marvel would miss one of the throws.

My lunch hit the ground with a sickening crunch. I knew even before I looked what had happened.

Their fun over, Cato and Marvel took off while I knelt on the wet pavement, watching as the only food I had left, what would have been the only thing I’d eaten in more than 24 hours, leaked out of a large crack in the side of the cheap thermos.

Tears filled my eyes. It was only broth, but I was so tired, and so defeated. I picked myself up and ran, half blind, for my hiding spot.

When Panem converted to proper storm sewers years earlier the town had left a number of old concrete culverts in place, filling in the openings with rocks to discourage kids from playing in them. There was one such culvert near the school, someone had cleared out much of the rocks and debris leaving a little cave-like structure, not quite big enough to stand in but perfect to curl up and hide in when the world got too difficult. The entrance was partially obscured by a boulder and whoever had initially cleared it had long since forgotten about it; no one ever bothered me there. It had been my refuge many times over the years.

I crawled in and threw myself down on the cold concrete, curling up in the fetal position and crying. I cried like I had never cried before, more than at my father’s funeral, more than when I’d broken my arm in third grade. I sobbed and wailed, angry at my father for dying, at my mother for abandoning me, at the world for not noticing.

When I finally started to calm I realized I wasn’t alone. A little boy in a sunshine yellow rainslicker was sitting beside me, stroking my hair and murmuring, “Don’t cry, it’ll be okay.”

Peeta.

I recognized him from class, but I’d never spoken to him before. He must have seen what happened with Cato and Marvel and followed me. I wanted to be angry, but my fire had been extinguished. “It won’t be okay,” I wailed. “It’ll never be okay again!” I burst into a fresh round of sobbing and Peeta laid down behind me, wrapping his arms around my trembling form.

He waited until I’d cried myself out before speaking again. “I know it seems hopeless now, but you are strong, you’re going to get through it.”

“I’m not strong,” I told him, but he shook his head, propping himself up to look at my tear-stained face.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever seen. You’re strong and brave and you can do anything.” He pointed to a single dandelion that, despite the odds, had rooted itself in a crack in the culvert and was blooming. “See, you’re like that dandelion, thriving in the darkest of places.” I looked at him incredulously, wondering how a 12 year old boy wearing rainboots with little frogs on them could have the soul of a poet.

He got up and left without another word, and it was only later that I noticed he’d left his lunch behind, taken the brown paper bag out of his backpack and set it against the struggling weed which was made beautiful in my mind by his description.

Inside the bag was a turkey sandwich with cheese and lettuce on the softest roll I’d ever tasted. I ate half of it, sobbing as I did, and to this day nothing has ever tasted as good as that sandwich.

I was late getting to school that day and soaked through, but no one commented. At lunchtime I hid in the stairwell, savouring the tart apple and chocolate chip cookie that were still in Peeta’s lunch sack. The food, and the boy, went a long way to restoring my spirits.

I picked Prim up after school that day and fed her the other half of Peeta’s sandwich, then I marched home and searched through my mother’s phone book until I found Uncle Haymitch’s number. He came immediately. We were living with him permanently just days later, with clean clothes on our backs and food in our bellies.

I’d only had the courage to call Uncle Haymitch, a man I barely knew, because of Peeta. Because Peeta gave me hope, made me believe that I was worthy of being helped. And yet I never thanked him. Over the years I had thought about that day so many times, and as I grew older I began to understand just how amazing what he did was, began to appreciate just how selfless he had been. Following me, comforting me, feeding me, giving me hope, things that none of the adults in my life had done to that point. In a very real way he saved my life. And I never even said thank you.

Years later, we were friends, best friends even, I saw him every day and could have said something a million times but I hadn’t.

I was an awful person. I didn't deserve him.

An hour later Peeta came into my room and climbed wordlessly into bed behind me, holding me tightly all night long, and making me pancakes the next morning. He didn't mention the book, and for awhile I forgot about it.

The Tuesday before Christmas break Victor's Academy hosted its annual Christmas formal. I'd skipped the previous year, anxious to get home to Prim and lacking any formal wear anyway. That year, however, Johanna was insistent that Peeta and I were coming as her dates since it was her last year.

Even though Johanna was quite a bit curvier than me, and a solid 4 inches shorter, she found a dress in her closet that I could wear. It was a stretchy material that was skin tight on Jo, but just skimmed my body. Red in colour with a wrapped design that made my boyish figure almost look womanly, it was just above knee length on Jo, but only came to mid-thigh on me.

And while I'd never harboured any illusions about my looks I knew I looked attractive in that red dress with my hair down and just a hint of shimmering makeup. And the look Peeta gave me when I emerged from the bathroom, where Jo and been torturing me with mascara, made me feel beautiful. Desirable even.

Peeta was wearing a suit, a real honest to goodness grown up suit, black with a red tie, and I silently thrilled that we matched. He was so handsome with his curls carefully gelled back and his enormous smile. We posed for pictures with Jo, who looked fierce in a barely there scrap of black leather. Peeta wrapped his arms around me while Johanna snapped shot after shot on her phone, and I swore that he pressed a fleeting kiss to my temple. He even tucked my hand into the crook of his arm when we headed over to the hall together.

We had a wonderful hour of laughing and talking, mingling with classmates, sharing holiday plans. Then Glimmer showed up.

She'd gotten ready with another friend, the pair of them looked like they'd stepped out of a magazine. Glimmer's dress was silver and cut so low in the front that two-thirds of her impressive rack was on display. Her hair had obviously been professionally done, makeup too. Jaws literally dropped when she walked in the room.

And, of course, she beelined for Peeta.

I tried, I really tried, not to be annoyed, but any time I tried to say anything to Peeta she angled herself between us, she directed his attention back to her over and over again. Eventually I gave up and stood silently brooding. When she started to run her fingers through his hair I excused myself to go powder my nose.

She cornered me in the bathroom. It was fairly obvious she'd been drinking. "Listen, catpiss," she slurred. "Just back the fuck off, okay? He doesn't want you. He's never going to want a bag of bones like you when he can have this." She ran her hands over her tits and sneered at me

"Peeta isn't shallow enough to waste his time on a piece of fluff like you," I said, but I didn't really believe it, and my tone lacked any bite. Glimmer just laughed and pushed past me, leaving me to stare at the girl in the mirror. The girl who simply couldn't hold a candle to her bombshell bitch of a podmate.

I visited with Thresh and his girl Rue for a while, enjoyed their easy banter and interesting stories, started to relax. Then I caught a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye. Peeta and Glimmer were on the dance floor, bodies pressed tightly together. Lips pressed together.

I knew I shouldn't watch, but I was powerless to look away. They were kissing passionately, practically devouring each other, her hands tangled in his hair the way I’d longed to do. It was just too much. I made excuses to Thresh and walked out of the hall, standing on the front steps, shivering in the cold.

Peeta found me there a few minutes later. "Katniss, come back in, you'll catch your death out here!" He smiled, pink cheeked and jolly, and I couldn't hold the anger in any longer.

"Go away Peeta," I practically spat at him. "Go back to your girlfriend."

He sighed, the smile dropping from his face. "Is this about Glimmer again? She's not my girlfriend, Katniss, how many times do I have to tell you I'm not interested in Glimmer?" There was a hint of frustration in his voice that just made me angrier.

"Jesus, Peeta, you were practically eating her face in there, if that's disinterest how do you treat girls that you are interested in?" I was embarrassed by my jealous tone but too far gone to stop. He rubbed his hand roughly across his face.

"She kissed me, and I stopped it. I told her I don't see her that way. She's drunk out of her mind, Katniss, she probably didn't even know who I was!"

"Oh please, she's been trying to get into your pants since September, she knows exactly who you are!"

"Yeah," he yelled, the first time he had ever raised his voice at me. "And I know who she is. And more importantly I know who she's not, okay? She's not the one I've been waiting for. She's not the one I've wanted for years. Okay?" He opened his mouth to say more but then abruptly closed it, clenched his hands into fists and marched back inside without sparing me a second glance, leaving me stunned and confused.

When I finally went back in he was nowhere to be seen. I grabbed my coat, said goodnight to Johanna, and walked back to our pod. Alone.

It took forever to fall asleep. I laid awake for hours thinking about what Peeta said, wondering what he meant. I wasn't stupid enough to think he meant me, that I could be the one he was waiting for, but there was a sick little part of me that couldn't help wishing. Hoping really.

Deep in the night I jolted awake from a nightmare of mutts with Glimmer's eyes, screeching and clawing at me and at Peeta while we cowered on top of a giant golden horn.

It was more frightening than it sounds.

I staggered out of my bedroom in the dark, heading for the kitchen to get a glass of juice, and quickly realized that the screeching part of my dream was real. Along with a rhythmic thump, thump, thump, an almost unholy keening was emanating from behind Glimmer’s closed door. I rolled my eyes and walked into the kitchen, still in the dark.

The yowling continued, increasing in volume, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it sounded more like a porn soundtrack than two people engaged in a loving act. But since the entirety of my own romantic experience was a handful of kisses and an awkward copped feel by Darius Grant in 10th grade, I wasn’t in a position to judge.

I’d just set down my glass when the keening switched to words. “Oh fuck yes, oh fuck, ohhhhh Peeta, give it to me!”

I didn’t even know it was possible to feel pain like that. It was as if someone had stabbed me through the chest with a spear. I glanced over at Peeta’s room, praying that I’d heard wrong, but his door was open and even from the kitchen I could see his bed was empty.

Johanna’s door flew open and she stomped out, a tiny whirlwind of half-naked fury. “Bread Boy,” she yelled at Glimmer’s door. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re pounding her with in there but she sounds like a dying cow. Put a gag or something on that, some of us are trying to sleep!” The sounds ceased immediately, and she was chuckling softly as she turned back towards her room. That’s when she noticed me, standing stock still and wide eyed in the kitchen.

Johanna and I never talked about guys or our love lives or anything like that, it’s just not the kind of relationship we had. Our friendship was built on similar taste in music and books, and a mutual distaste for tact or conformity. But in that moment I knew she saw what I was feeling. I could tell by the look of dawning understanding that she had figured out I was in love with Peeta, with the man loudly fucking our roommate behind that door.

I bolted back to my room without a word. I couldn’t stand seeing the pity in her eyes a second longer. And for the first time since I came to college, I turned the privacy lock on my bedroom door.

I didn’t cry, I didn’t honestly feel anything but numb. I’d already mostly packed my bags since I was supposed to go home for the holidays on Friday afternoon, so I mechanically threw the last few things I’d need for Christmas break on top of my clothes, then sat on my bed and waited.

When enough time passed that I was fairly confident the rest of the pod was asleep I grabbed my bag and jacket, unlocked my door and crept out. I did spare a glance at Peeta’s bedroom; the door was closed. I felt a tiny pinch of satisfaction that at least he hadn’t slept the night wrapped in her arms.

By the time he texted me I was already back in Panem, eating pancakes with Haymitch at Sae’s Diner. _Gone home already_?

I replied with a single word, Yep, then powered off my phone and threw it deep in the recesses of my purse, where it stayed until I dropped Prim off at the mall two days later. When I powered it back up, so that she’d be able to contact me when she needed to be picked up, the pinging of dozens of text message notifications rang through my little orange car.

  
_Peeta: Why did you leave so early? Is everything okay?_  
 _Peeta: Katniss…?_  
 _Peeta: Call me!_  
 _Peeta: Are you upset with me? I’m sorry I yelled, I didn’t mean it :(_  
 _Peeta: Please call me when you get this._  
 _Peeta: Katniss, what’s going on, why won’t you answer your phone?_  
 _Peeta: I think your phone is off. Please call me when you get this…_  
 _Peeta: we really need to talk._  
 _Johanna M: BRAINLESS UR BOY IS DRIVING ME MENTAL! ANSWER UR DAMNED PHONE!!_  
 _Peeta: Oh God, Jo told me everything, it’s not what you think, I wasn’t even there, I swear! Please please talk to me!_  
 _Peeta: I know you’re mad but I miss you so much. I need to talk to you._  
 _Peeta: Okay I think it’s pretty safe to say you’re ignoring me, and I get it, but I wish you’d hear me out._

And then the last one, sent only that morning.  
_Peeta: I couldn’t sleep without you, so I’ve been doing some reading. I’m heading to Panem today. We need to talk, Katniss. Will you please meet me at 2:00? If I’m right about what I read, and what I think it means, then you’ll know where._

Terror welled up inside me. My books. In my rush to leave I hadn’t grabbed the box of them from my closet, had never, in fact, even checked that all 12 were still there. Peeta had to have meant my book, had he READ it? Oh shit, had he recognized himself in the character? Did he know the dedication was to him? “To my dandelion in spring, bringing hope and light in the darkest of places.” Shit, shit, shit!! There was no way he could remember the words he'd said to me when we were just kids?

Then you’ll know where… The words rang through my head, over and over, taunting me. It was 1:45 and I was practically paralysed with indecision. What would I do if I showed up at the culvert and he wasn’t there?

What would I do if he was?

There was no snow yet in Panem, but the grasses were crunchy when I picked my way over them. I hadn’t been to the culvert in years but there was no way I’d ever forget where it was. It was overcast, and I fiddled with the light on my phone before squeezing past the boulder.

“It’s a lot smaller than I remember,” a voice echoed through the dim and I squawked, nearly dropping my phone. The little LED beam illuminated Peeta, sitting with his knees half drawn up, looking squashed in the small cave-like structure. His hair was unruly, clearly he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly, a nervous habit of his, and he looked so tired.

God I had missed him.

“I think we’re a little bigger, actually,” I said, crawling in to sit facing him, our knees side by side, and propping my phone against the curved wall of the culvert, allowing its light to bathe us both. He smiled then, fleetingly, before looking down at his knees.

“I didn’t sleep with Glimmer,” he said so bluntly I had no clue how to respond. He’d implied as much in his text, but hearing the words provoked a rush of relief and disbelief. I stayed silent, mentally imploring him to continue. “I don’t know who was in there with her, hell maybe she was alone, but it wasn’t me. I left the party with Thresh and Rue, checked out their new place, had a couple of drinks. When I got back to the apartment it was all quiet and your door was locked, so I went to bed. I had no idea anything had happened at all until Jo started making cracks about my prowess. It took a couple of days to get the story out of her. By then Glimmer had left for home and I couldn’t even ask her what the fuck she was thinking. And you were gone. And I was heartbroken.”

I glanced up at that, there was nothing in his expression to suggest he was lying or trying to make me feel better. My confusion must have read on my face. “Please believe me, Katniss,” he implored so softly.

“I do.” His face flooded with relief. “But Peeta,” I continued, afraid to speak but needing to know. “Why would it matter whether I believed you or not? You don’t owe me anything. We’re not… we’re not... together... that way.” It hurt to say that, because I desperately wanted to be together, not just side by side, hugging and laughing, though I wanted that too. I wanted all of it.

“It matters, Katniss. It matters so much..” He was silent after that, thinking. I began to fidget a little and he nodded to himself, then reached into the messenger bag wedged beside him. He, of course, pulled out my book. The edge of the dandelion dust jacket was damaged, and I realized it was the copy that Glimmer had thrown on the floor weeks ago, in her haste to demean me. I wondered if he'd been holding onto it all along.

He ran his thumb along the creases almost reverently. "This isn't just a book you liked enough to buy a dozen copies of for Prim." He said it factually, clearly already having guessed the answer. I shook my head.

"This was here, right? I mean, obviously not the exact dandelion," he waved his hand towards the cracks in the culvert, which were barren on that early winter day. "But you chose this picture, didn't you? You chose it because of this place."

"Yes," I said softly, though my voice was unnaturally loud in the small space. 'Because of you,' I thought, but I couldn't say it out loud. He nodded and opened the cover, flipping a few pages in. I knew without looking that he was reading the dedication, and probably not for the first time.

"You wrote this?" I nodded again. He smiled. "It's incredible, Katniss! I mean, I knew you were a gifted writer, but this is amazing! Is this the story you won the scholarship with?" Peeta knew I was on a full scholarship, there was no way I'd have been able to attend otherwise. He was on a partial scholarship himself; his art was phenomenal.

"I never intended for it to be published," I admitted. I was grateful for the scholarship, grateful for the advance too, but having that story out there felt like having a piece of my own soul unprotected. His eyes softened at my expression.

Peeta reached across to me. "C'mere," he smiled. I crawled over to sit next to him, our hips touching, and he wrapped an arm around me to draw me even closer. It wasn't the first time we'd sat this way, we often curled up together watching Netflix, but somehow this was different. There was an anticipation, a shift. He thumbed through my book one-handed until he came to the part that described Allium. "She seems kind of familiar," he teased, fingers tracing the lines even as his other hand held my shoulder firmly. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

"Okay, she's an idealized version of me." My voice sounded defensive even to my own ears but Peeta just chuckled.

"She's nowhere near as smart as you are," he said and I scowled. He merely laughed at my expression. "I'm serious," he continued. "You'd have gotten out of there alive." His grin faltered slightly. "You're a survivor, Katniss." I swallowed heavily, this was it.

"Only because someone helped me," I whispered. The look in his eyes was so intense it made my heart pound but I forced myself to hold his gaze. "I never thanked you, Peeta. You saved me that day."

He looked away then, in the dim I could barely make out the flush that crept up his cheeks. "It was just a sandwich," he mumbled.

"No. It was so much more. It was hope, Peeta. You gave me hope. My whole world had fallen apart and no one cared. No one except you. Our teachers must have known but they turned a blind eye. You're the only one who helped. And... I don't know how to explain it. You just made me feel like I was worthy of being helped. Everyone else made me feel invisible." He was still staring ahead with an unreadable expression on his face. I slid the book out of his hand and flipped ahead a few pages, to where Barley was introduced. "This was you," I admitted and he turned to stare at me incredulously.

"Me?" I bit my lips against the grin that threatened and nodded.

"How many blond haired, blue-eyed heroes do you think I know?"

"None," he mumbled and I elbowed him in the ribs.

"Seriously Peeta, you didn't recognize yourself? Should I have crowned him prom king, would that have helped?" He was almost crimson cheeked.

"Do you really see me like that?" he asked, and the note of vulnerability in his voice nearly did me in.

"You're even better than Barley," I told him, my own cheeks heating. "You're kinder, and... and handsomer. You're real, Peeta, not the pale imitation I wrote."

"But... but you wrote this years ago." I nodded and took a deep breath. There would be no going back after this final truth was revealed.

"I've, uh, had a crush on you as long as I can remember." The words came out in a breathless jumble, as if by speeding through them I could make them less terrifying.

Silence stretched between us in the culvert, my every breath echoed off the cement. I was just about to get up, run home with my stupid tail between my legs when his hand tightened on my shoulder.

"You wore a red dress on the first day of school, and your hair was in two braids." I turned to look at him, my brow furrowed in confusion. "You sang that day, for our teacher. You sang every day, for years. At recess, in line, under your breath while you worked. I spent our entire childhood trying to work up the courage to tell you that when you sang even the birds fell silent."

"What?" I was confused, his cheeks flamed but his expression was so earnest, so open. I silently implored him to continue, and he did.

"You stopped singing after your dad died." His voice was a reverent whisper, and I nodded, surprised he'd noticed. It wasn't a conscious thing exactly. It was just that the joy music brought me evaporated when he was gone.. "I used to dream that someday I'd be the one to make you sing again." He took a deep breath, not unlike I had minutes before, and I stopped breathing entirely.

"I spent years watching you Katniss, trying to figure out a way to talk to you. I watched you turn from a cute, peppy little girl into a brooding, scowling bombshell." I scoffed at that, and he flashed me me a mischievous grin before continuing more solemnly. "When we graduated, I thought I'd lost my chance forever. And then I got to Victor's and you were there. Not just there, but my podmate! It was like the greatest gift ever!"

He shifted then in the snug confines of the cold culvert, and finding his new position unsatisfactory he huffed, wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me into his lap. I squeaked in surprise, but certainly not dissent, and the feeling of his firm thigh under my ass, the rock hard wall of his chest under my palm left me struggling just to breathe.

It was only then that he seemed to realize what he'd done, and his face reflected the shock I felt, his cheeks paling, glowing in the dim. “Is, uh, is this okay?” he whispered, and I could only nod. It was so much better than okay. It was one of my fantasies come to life. We were so close I could feel his words skating across my own lips. His body relaxed under mine.

"Katniss," he sighed, and even in the gloom I could see his eyes shining. "Getting to know you has been the most amazing thing to happen to me. You're so fun and funny and kind and loyal. You're my best friend, and I've been terrified that if I told you I wanted more I'd lose you."

"You could never lose me, Peeta," I murmured. He stared at me, sized me up maybe, and then a look of determination painted his features. His hand cupped my cheek and he licked his lips, so full I couldn't tear my eyes from them. I was still staring when they turned up in the slightest of smirks. Then he leaned in.

Years of longing compressed into a needy little moan when finally our lips met. It was cautious, hesitant, a question. I answered by leaning in more, opening my mouth to the explorations of his inquisitive tongue.

I don't know how long we kissed in the cold cement cave, but when my phone started buzzing and we broke apart we were both flushed and dishevelled, his hair standing on end where I'd run my fingers repeatedly through the silky strands. His head flopped back and he groaned, his throat exposed, tempting me. I didn't resist. When I licked and bit and sucked he chanted my name like a prayer.

Until my phone buzzed again. Prim, of course, needing a ride home.

We were cold and stiff, and hot and flustered, when we crawled out of the culvert, away from our private little cave and back into reality. I couldn't help but wonder if now that the spell was broken everything we had shared in there would disappear. He seemed to have the same concern. “Katniss,” he breathed. “Can we, I mean, would you…” He huffed out a frustrated sigh, reaching for my hand and gripping it tightly. “I want to take you out. On a date.”

I didn't bother playing coy or hard to get. Instead I kissed him hard, the huge grin on my face making our teeth clash. “I'll allow it,” I laughed.

So we dated.

It wasn't much different, really. We spent time together, went places together, laughed and talked and teased each other. But we also kissed. And made out.

A lot.

Despite being linked with virtually every pretty girl at Panem High, Peeta wasn't a whole lot more experienced than I was. We learned together. By the time our three week Christmas break was over I thought we were pretty good at it. We hadn't taken the big step, but we’d learned to pleasure each other in different ways.

And he definitely made me sing.

The drive back to school was uncharacteristically quiet. The closer we got, the more I worried. There was, after all, still Glimmer to deal with. She laid all of my insecurities bare. How could three weeks of kissing and clumsy hand jobs compare to her? She just had so much more to offer Peeta than I did.

She was, of course, sitting in the common room when we pushed our way into the pod, arms full of bags. She leapt off the couch, cooing for Peeta, and my heart sank. But before I could run away, before Glimmer could even cross the room to launch herself at Peeta, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, possessively. I practically melted into him and she stopped short, one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised. I wanted to crow at the expression on her face.

I could be petty too, sometimes.

But Peeta was never petty, never mean, even with people who didn't deserve his kindness. He looked Glimmer straight in the eye. “I think we need to talk.” His voice was gentle, calm, but firm. Then he leaned down and kissed me, sweetly, lingering just a little longer than he really needed to. I accepted his reassurance, leaving them alone in the common room as I took my bag, and Peeta’s, to my room.

I never asked him what they said, and he never offered, but Glimmer moved out of the pod before the week was over. They still saw each other around campus, still had lunch together from time to time, but I wasn't threatened by it after that. His choice was clear.

I enjoyed my classes, I enjoyed my roommates. I really, really enjoyed dating Peeta. It was pretty much the best time of my life.

And my little book didn't do too badly either. It wasn't a runaway smash, but good reviews and a feature in an influential magazine ensured that it sold well enough to cover my advance and keep me in modest royalty cheques for awhile.

When Fluvia Cardew approached me in junior year about writing a sequel, I already had a few ideas. Prim was just about ready to start college, and that advance helped get her a car.

Effie Trinket’s sophomore effort, a novel about Allium’s sister, Brier, who lead a revolution, got only middling reviews. But it sold like hot cakes. And somehow it generated more interest in the first book.

Much more.

Way more.

My little book, my story of star-crossed lovers, became huge, more than 5 years after I wrote it. And just before graduation, a subsidiary of one of the major studios optioned the rights to it. That payment bought Peeta and me an amazing trip. I’ve never loved Effie Trinket more!

It took three more years before it was actually made into a movie. Peeta and I watched it on our honeymoon, giggling over the actors they’d chosen to play what was technically us (though the male lead couldn’t hold a candle to my gorgeous husband). He was worried I’d be upset with all of the changes they’d made between the book and the screen, but I wasn’t. I knew about most of them ahead of time anyway, the studio had been good about keeping me in the loop, even though they weren’t obligated to. They’d extended invitations to the set and to the premieres too, but I’d declined.

See, Allium and Barley’s story was fun, and had opened so many doors for me, but they didn’t get the happy ending.

Katniss and Peeta did. And that was the story I was really interested in.

So maybe it didn’t actually start with a contest. Maybe it started with a kind, brave little boy and a lonely little girl who found each other, and who found hope and light together.


End file.
